The entire coliseum was in ruins.
The once-proud arena of Mesnil was now nothing but a graveyard of shattered walls and broken dreams.
Amidst the rubble, a voice carried out, but it was hoarse and desperate, yet unyielding.
"...My King!!"
Gunavoe crawled across the debris, blood pouring from the gashes on his arms and chest.
His sword was broken, his armor dented and mangled, but still he pressed forward.
Lancelot still hung upon the wall, impaled by Chaos tendrils that writhed like serpents feeding on his essence.
His once-radiant aura was fading as his breath became shallow, and his skin was paling as the curse chewed through his very existence.
"Gunavoe..." Lancelot's voice was pained in his speech. "You live...?"
Tears welled in the knight's eyes as he reached for his king, his gauntleted hand trembling.
"I refuse... I refuse to let you die here! Hold on, sire! I'll free you—I swear it!"
Through sheer willpower, he stood up and grabbed the tendrils with both hands, pulling with all his strength.
The chaos burned through his palms instantly, boiling his flesh, yet still he pulled, screaming through the agony.
"LET—GO—OF—HIM!!"
The tendrils barely budged as the smell of scorched skin filled the air.
Above them, Agnes watched, her smile never fading as smoke trailed elegantly from her pipe.
"How pitiful. Even now you thrash like a worm against inevitability. Don't you see, knight? The king you worship will not even be remembered soon. His name, his title, his very concept is unraveling before your eyes."
"Silence, witch!" Gunavoe shouted as his arms trembled while his muscles tore. "Even if the world forgets him—I will not!"
Lancelot coughed blood, but his lips curved into a proud smile.
"Gunavoe... still the same stubborn fool from the very beginning."
The knight pressed his forehead to his king's chest, his body shuddering.
"I won't fail you, my king, I won't let you die like this! If you fall into nothingness—I will follow you into the abyss!"
Agnes tilted her head as her eyes narrowed with an odd curiosity.
For once, she said nothing.
Hovering from above, and held by the three spirits, Merlin wheezed with her body still spasming from Grimhild's curses, yet she laughed weakly.
"Loyalty... hah... It's so pathetic... isn't it, Lady Agnes?"
Agnes' pipe paused at her lips. Her gaze lingered on Gunavoe's bleeding hands and Lancelot's fading smile.
"Perhaps..." She said. "Or perhaps it is the last delusion of men who cannot accept Chaos."
The tendrils tightened as Lancelot grunted in pain, his figure flickering like a mirage.
Gunavoe's grip only strengthened, though his hands were nothing but bone and blood now.
His roar shook the rubble around them.
"IF CHAOS WANTS MY KING—IT WILL HAVE TO SWALLOW ME FIRST!!"
"Gunavoe... enough. If I am to fall, then let it be remembered... you stood when all else crumbled."
"No!" Gunavoe shouted as tears finally fell down his face. "If you vanish from this world, then I will carve your memory into the earth with my blood! Chaos cannot erase you from me!"
Agnes lowered her pipe, her expression darkening.
"What an interesting little insect you are..."
The tendrils began to constrict once more, reality straining around Lancelot's unraveling form.
Gunavoe held on tighter as his body was failing, but his will burned brighter than ever.
"That is quite enough, Agnes."
An immense, powerful voice rang out across the ruins as the storm clouds above parted with light flooding the battlefield as a vast shadow fell across the coliseum.
From the heavens descended a monumental vessel—a fortress of crimson steel and mana-reactors.
Its armored wings expanded wide, engines glowing like captured suns.
A warship—one of Sir Gawain's flying citadels of the Southern Empire.
Upon its prow stood four figures.
Arthur Pendragon, Excalibur in hand, its blade shining with living radiance.
Gawain, clad in his crimson reactor armor, Galatine resting against his shoulder as if ready to ignite the skies.
Percival, his angelic wings unfurled, Longinus blazing with ethereal light as his clothes rippled in the winds.
And Tristan, hood drawn low, his calm eyes expressing fatal resolve as Failnaught remained in his grasp.
They descended upon the ruined coliseum, their very presence a wall against despair.
Lancelot, pinned and fading, widened his eyes. Blood still streaked his lips, but a choked gasp escaped.
"Arthur... Gawain... Percival... Tristan...?"
For the first time since Chaos had impaled him, hope flickered in his eyes.
His brethren—his former family—had come.
Arthur leapt from the deck as the ground trembled beneath his landing.
"Agnes Gravenworth!" He declared with a voice that reverberated with the authority of a king. "Witch of Chaos—this ends here!"
Agnes exhaled a slow ribbon of smoke, her lips curling into an amused smile.
"My, my... the Round Table gathers at last. All except the broken hound impaled before me." Her eyes slid toward Lancelot. "How touching. Does this reunion make your death sweeter, I wonder?"
"Witch!" Gawain's gauntlet tightened around Galatine. "You dare touch our brother and think we will stand idle?"
Tristan's voice cut through the tension.
"Release him... or I'll end this charade with one shot." Failnaught glowed as he raised it.
Percival stepped forward, his wings expanding.
"Lancelot is ours. You will not erase him—not while we still draw breath."
Lancelot's voice was shaken with emotion.
"You... you've all came..."
Arthur's eyes softened as he met his friend's fading gaze.
"Did you think we would abandon you, Lancelot? Not now. Not ever. Even though you've done unforgivable crimes, you're still our brother, and we will settle this together."
Excalibur flared with a holy light as Arthur lifted it with both hands.
"Brothers of the Round Table—stand with me!"
And together, the knights moved—four legends descending upon Chaos incarnate, their relics blazing, and their oaths unbroken.
"Do you honestly believe you stand a chance against me?" Muttered Agnes, smug as ever. "I've changed quite a lot from the Legendary Age, Heroes of Yggdrasil."
"Taste legendary steel, witch!" Gawain was the first to attack.
Galatine was the most fearsome weapon of all when it came to heat. Capable of reaching Planck temperatures that some called 'Absolute Hot', exceeding a temperature of 141,678,400,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 K.
Anyone near its vicinity that he wanted extinguished would vaporize instantly, and yet Agnes simply lifted her bare hand, catching it in her grasp.
"You think this little heater has what it takes to harm me?"
"Tsk…!" Gawain frowned, but Tristan came from the left side, flanking the witch.
"Be cleaved in two." Speaking silently as ever, Tristan swung his blade at her hip.
Failnaught had the ability to cut that which cannot be cut, preventing one's regenerative properties.
"Your efforts are in vain." Agnes said as a condensed shield of chaos enveloped her hip, halting the blade in its tracks.
"What?" Tristan widened his eyes. Even with Failnaught's all-cutting properties, it was no match for Chaos.
"Hmph!" But that wasn't the end, as Sir Percival ascended to the sky, reeling Longinus back with all his might. "Wash away!"
Longinus was a weapon that could deny truths, making them a lie. While it was true that Agnes could resist such Holy Vessels, Longinus turned that truth into a lie.
So he thought.
Agnes simply stood still, lifting her pipe and parrying the holy spear to the side.
"Your weapon may bind people by its truth, but it's nothing compared to me."
"Arthur, save Lancelot! We'll hold her off!" Yelled Gawain.
Arthur's eyes narrowed as Excalibur shone like a living star in his hand.
"Hold her as long as you can. I'll tear those tendrils from him!"
He sprinted toward Lancelot with resolve.
Gunavoe looked up as his body barely clung to life—his burnt palms still clutching the writhing chaos.
"Arthur...!" His broken voice cracked. "Please... save him..."
Arthur met his gaze, solemn and resolute.
"I will. You've done enough, warrior. Rest."
The once-broken knight collapsed to his knees, still clinging stubbornly to the tendrils, as though his hands would never let go even in death.
Arthur simply touched him with Excalibur and healed his wounds.
Meanwhile, behind them, Agnes moved like a tempest.
Gawain's reactor armor roared as Galatine ignited in full.
Spacetime was rippling while the coliseum floor started glowing red-hot beneath his feet.
"BURN!" He shouted, swinging down in an arc that split space itself.
The deadly flame swept over Agnes—but the witch stepped through it, Chaos parting the inferno like water around stone.
Her smirk widened as she backhanded him with casual disdain.
Gawain was hurled across the battlefield, crashing through a wall of broken steel.
"Is that all?" Agnes mocked. "The Southern Sun has dulled with time."
But before she could finish, Tristan was already there—Failnaught drawn taut, not as a blade, but as a bow.
He transformed it completely.
The arrow he loosed was no arrow at all, but the concept of severance itself—cutting air, stone, and chaos in its path.
It grazed Agnes' cheek as blood beaded on her skin.
For the first time, she blinked.
Tristan lowered his hood further with his voice flat as an executioner.
"I only need one more shot."
Agnes chuckled, wiping the blood with her thumb.
"You won't live long enough to fire it."
Then came Percival.
Descending like a seraph, wings blazing, Longinus was called back in his hand with such holy radiance it could purify any corrupt creature in its vicinity.
"Truths mean nothing before God's authority. Whatever he deems a lie, it shall become! NOW BE ERASED!"
He thrust with all his might.
The spear pierced the veil of chaos, striking her chest with a force that shattered heaven's silence.
Agnes' body jolted as the Chaos around her momentarily dissipated.
Her eyes narrowed until her lips curled in irritation.
"Persistent gnats... how can you harm me?"
She inhaled deeply from her pipe.
The smoke that exhaled did not disperse, but instead solidified, warping into serpentine chains of chaos that lashed outward, entangling Percival mid-flight, dragging him from the sky like prey ensnared by a predator.
Arthur reached Lancelot at last.
"Stay with me, brother!" His voice was firm, though his eyes betrayed urgency.
Excalibur blazed as he swung at the tendrils binding Lancelot.
Unlike the others, Excalibur did not waver.
The holy blade bit deep into Chaos itself, cutting the tendrils into nothingness.
Light poured from the cut, and the tendrils shrieked as if alive, writhing in agony before splitting apart.
Lancelot gasped, air rushing back into his lungs as the pressure on his chest loosened.
"Arthur... you…"
"Save your strength!" Arthur commanded. "You are not yet free!"
Agnes's head snapped toward them, her smugness faded.
"That cursed blade!" Anger was present on her face, until she realized something. "Ah, so that's it." Her smugness had returned. "You've shared a piece of Excalibur with the other Heroes to damage me! How keen of you, Arthur Pendragon!"
Arthur turned, frowning at her.
"I'll do whatever it takes to defeat evil scum like you! Even if I have to shatter Excalibur itself!"